


Gimme Shelter

by Amazonia_8



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Castiel Makes Pie, Castiel in the Bunker, Explicit Language, Fallen Castiel, Hurt Castiel, M/M, Men of Letters Bunker, Non-Explicit Sex, POV Sam Winchester, Protective Dean Winchester, Sam is a Good Brother
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-19
Updated: 2014-12-19
Packaged: 2018-03-02 07:09:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2803961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amazonia_8/pseuds/Amazonia_8
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the brothers finally find their now human friend, Sam begins to realize how much Dean and Castiel need each other and makes it his goal to get them together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gimme Shelter

Sam wasn’t a cruel person. He felt that, for the most part, he was considerate and kind and enduringly patient with a brother whose only real calling in life besides killing monsters was pushing people’s buttons. And look, certainly he had failings, but his heart was always in the right place, despite knowing better than the next person about the road paved with good intentions. So this was a minor thing, an indulgence he could forgive as the product of being a youngest child whose life and happiness were often put before others, that his whispered _thank God_ had very little to do with the fact that they’d found Castiel, and much more to do with the fact that his own personal torment at the hands of his brother was now over.

They discovered him in an alley that had been transformed into a makeshift tent city.  Its location, across from the church soup kitchen and between two buildings whose tenants were too burdened by the desperation of their own lives to care, made it an ideal spot for the lost and the insane to find a less transient place to rest. Unlike some of his neighbors who had been at this longer, Cas didn’t have a patchwork shelter, a precarious cart of necessary refuse scavenged for some future need. He was alone even here, huddled in a ball on a mat of damp cardboard, his back to the wall like an alley cat made of rags and bone.

It had taken them seven weeks. Seven weeks and two days, because Sam was counting, to follow the breadcrumb trail of other former angels left in city morgues for their efforts to kill Heaven’s enemy number one. They’d tracked him to Seattle, where the trail got cold enough for Sam to start making the case for moving on. But Dean refused, something in him told him Cas was still here, so Sam relented and silently gave his brother a week before he would try again to convince him otherwise. Maybe Dean _could_ sense something, it wouldn’t entirely surprise the younger Winchester, or maybe he just needed to flush out every hole in this city himself so that no remaining doubt could haunt him should this truly be a dead end. And he was just as ruthlessly efficient at this as he was hunting, maybe more so because the life at stake wasn’t some innocent everyman, it was Cas. It was his own.

Sam would never say that out loud. He may nag Dean about opening up, about talking to someone he could trust, namely him, about whatever horrifying burden he was currently carrying, but he wouldn’t touch the ‘Cas situation’ with a ten foot pole.  Sure he teased his brother when the mood was light enough, it would raise more red flags if he didn’t, but the closest he’d ever dared come to sincerity was one of the last times they’d seen their friend. He was still an angel then, though a bloody, broken one when they took him in, and the pain on their friend’s face and the fresh betrayal of yet another decision to go it alone, without the brother’s help, left Dean a viper whose venom was just for Cas. It was difficult to watch, and though a little part of Sam was just happy it wasn’t directed at him this time, he finally had to admit there was something else at work here.  Dean never bothered to be that cruel to people he didn’t care about, but the ones he did had been with him long enough to know the steps to this routine.  Cas just wasn’t built to get subtext.  Hell, Dean wasn’t either for that matter, so watching the result of their combined ignorance was enough for Sam to break his own rule as gently as he could.

_Go easy on him._

_Because it’s Cas._

The Seattle skyline was still visible when Dean pulled over to a roadside motel. It wasn’t dark yet and they could have just stayed in the city, but Sam figured it was more of a tactical move on Dean’s part, fewer people to account for where they made camp. Not that Sam was complaining, in the thirty minutes it took to get here, they had almost collided with something four times because Dean couldn’t keep his fucking eyes off Cas in the rearview mirror.

They got him inside, and once there realized that Cas probably had no idea what was happening. Dean hadn’t said a word when they’d spotted him, just a momentary tick of the muscle in his jaw before he scooped the smaller man up and carried him with long determined strides back to the Impala. Cas had remained immobile in the backseat, the only sign he was alive two weak groans and a shift of position. But now that they could get a proper look at him it was clear he was in a bad way. Dean barked a series of orders. They had him stripped, the clothes thrown in the dumpster outside. Sam hadn’t meant to gasp out loud, he could see from his brother’s expression it only twisted the knife. He was shockingly thin and pale, the fresh crosshatch of red cuts, the purple bruises, standing out that much more on the drum skin of his body. Sticks and stones and made of bones, the angels want to hurt me. He was awake, though not exactly lucid by the time Dean had the bath going and Sam was on his way out the door for supplies.

When he returned, he did his best to ignore the view in the reflection of the bathroom mirror through the crack of the open door. Dean must have bathed him, drained the tub, refilled it and bathed him again because Cas had been filthy and this water was clear. He only allowed himself a moment to wonder at the gentle ease with which his brother scrubbed away the grime on the other man, the soft hush of his voice murmuring a string of something indecipherable that was met with only silence. He gave them their space.

While out, he’d gotten another room, they’d been so distracted earlier neither had thought of it when they arrived.  Or maybe Dean had, maybe his brother had every intention of sharing a bed with the former angel that night just so he could keep a closer watch.  But Sam didn’t want to see that, or pretend he wasn’t the type of person to bring it up at some point in the future so he left them alone and let them sort out the sleeping arrangements. Happy birthday Dean, enjoy your plausible deniability.

They stayed two days, Dean practically rabid with his desire to get back to the bunker, lock his angel down somewhere safe. But he wouldn’t risk Cas’ health and it was obvious the newly human man had been at the very end of his strength. Sam brought the food and Dean made sure he ate it. Sam mostly stayed away, playing lookout or scout just so that Dean could stay by Cas’ side. When the former angel looked to be on the mend, Dean practically peeled out of the parking lot, driving till he was nearly asleep at the wheel before giving the post over to Sam.  They didn’t pause for more than a rest stop break until they were at the bunker door.

Cas was given a room down the hall from Dean, and Sam noticed immediately that his brother now slept with the door open. He’d been waiting to see if there would be another explosion of temper from Dean, but was met with nearly perfect silence, unnatural and so much worse. Cas had never been exactly chatty before, but from the minute they’d gotten him back he’d said no more than, _yes, no, thank you, fine_. That had to be what was keeping his brother’s temper in check, the older man needed something to buffet his anger off of, and Cas was giving him nothing, waiting meekly, resigned but unwilling to say go with any type of defense. Brick by brick the tension was mortared and tamped by a very solid _absence_ that Sam began to dread more than the self-righteous vitriol his brother usually composed for such a time, blade-hot and personal but always, always the same.

On a night a few weeks later he heard shuffling, then the low babble of his brother’s voice trying to remain unheard. The next morning Sam merely raised a lone eyebrow, as would have been expected, at the rearranged furniture of the living room. From its new place against the opposite wall, the sofa now had the advantage of being within view of the doorway leading to the bedroom hall.  There were other small maneuvers, too, little tricks or shifts in posture that any normal person except those who hunt or had military training might overlook. No matter what Castiel did, where he went, Dean was always in range. Subtle, or so he thought, with innocuous intent calculated into each decision to change seats, rooms, line of sight.  The bunker had become ground zero in Operation Castiel and Sam was more than a little curious to see what the end game would be. He didn’t even think Dean knew, just that his brother had made Cas the target of all of his attention and he didn’t envy the ex-angel that role one bit.

Dean refused to even think about hunting.  Sam had suggested several small cases nearby, ones that wouldn’t keep them long and posed no real threat.

“I can’t, not until Cas is better.” But Cas was better, at least physically.  The superficial injuries of a life homeless and on the run were totally healed, Cas was filling out from the meals Dean practically shoved down his throat and he was sleeping well, the color returning to his skin, the deep black smudges under his eyes all but gone. But he was still barely speaking and it was fraying Dean’s nerves. Sam could see the shift and knew that unless something broke he would be right back to the nightmare he was living before they’d found Cas, when Dean was all razor wire and alcohol and nothing Sam did was anywhere close to right.

Sam needed to do something, and a lifetime of interpreting the many shades of anger that were Dean Winchester’s favorite medium, informed him he might have to play a little dirty. 

“Hey Cas, how ya doing?” He’d waited till Dean was in the shower, his love of that water pressure the only opportunity to get a solid bit of time alone with Cas.

“Fine.” The ex-angel was slouched on the sofa, not really paying attention to the show about young people singing and crying at a panel of stone faced celebrities. Sam took a careful seat next to his friend, who barely gave him a glance. No use dragging this out.

“He’s not mad at you, you know. He’s really friggin’ happy you’re ok.  I know it may not look like it but he is, he just….” Fuck, why had he thought he could do this? This shouldn’t feel wrong, he was just talking to his friend, he had every right to do that. But Dean wasn’t here, and the darkness of the room and his own voice refusing to rise above a hush was coiling into something that felt an awful lot like infidelity to Sam.

 “Look, we can tell something’s wrong, and we want you to know you can talk to us, we can try to help. You’ve been through some tough shit and if anyone can understand something like that it’s us. Just, don’t….he’s not—look, if he yells at you or something, that’s just how he is, and it sucks but he’s always going to be on your side.  You know that, right?”

There was genuine heartbreak in that face, more emotion than Sam had ever seen combined in the years he had known this man. He thought for a moment how similar these two men were going to be in one respect, their lack of skill putting words to emotion. Dean for his refusal to do so, Cas for his unfamiliarity with the act.

“Why?” And it was so close to a whisper Sam wondered if Cas was fighting back tears. “Why is he on my side? I’ve done so many terrible things, I’ve made mistakes Sam, one after the other because I thought I knew better, because I thought I could help.” And there was a long stretch of silence that Sam knew he wasn’t supposed to fill so he waited for Cas and hoped Dean would stay away. “I was done you know. I was through with the running, the last angel I killed in defense had once been my friend and I tried to speak to him but he was so angry and lost and I didn’t even feel myself react. I killed him and I didn’t realize it until his grace poured out around me. They all want me dead, and I don’t blame them. But I can’t even be trusted to let the blade fall, I’m still a soldier. So I gave up. They could find me or not find me, but I was through with it all."

Sam understood then what he meant, and it sent a shiver down his spine.

“Cas?” He wanted to pat his friend on the shoulder or something equally soothing, but that thing in the back of his mind told him that sort of intimacy was not allowed for him. “You, me, Dean…we don’t get to have normal problems like, I lost my job, or my kid is smoking pot. Everything we do has insane, epic consequences and most of the time we’re flying by the seat of our pants. Most of the time the best outcome is that everyone’s still alive and in one piece at the end of it. So when we make mistakes, they’re gonna be huge ones, with like, cosmic repercussions that usually have us staring right back down the barrel of another gun. And none of us are particularly good at forgiving ourselves, so that’s why we do it for each other. Talk to him. Dean doesn’t know how not to forgive you.” And he may have put a bit more emphasis on that final ‘you’, but that could have been unconscious.

Sam left him there and made a beeline for Dean.  His brother was just pulling on a shirt, hair still wet. Sam barged right in and shut the door, he wasn’t about to let this go on another minute.

“Sammy…” A warning, cause Dean knew very well what was on the other side of that expression. His brother didn’t give him a chance.

“He was out there waiting to die, Dean, like an animal. Just crawled into some corner and waited for it to come.” That shut him up quick. Good. “He’s tearing himself up because he feels like everything he’s done has basically fucked up the world and he doesn’t think he deserves forgiveness or friendship or--“ but he managed to stop himself there.

“He told you that?” Sam ignored the little flare of what looked like jealousy in his eyes.

“Basically. You’re gonna have to bite the bullet Dean, talk to him about what you’re feeling and do it in a way that doesn’t involve yelling. Also don’t be drunk.”

“Balls.”

 

Sam found a tidy little salt and burn about a day’s worth of travel away. More something to pass the time really, so it wasn’t like he needed any help. He shot eight kinds of looks at Dean before he left, but his brother had rolled his eyes enough that he knew his point had been made.  If he’d been questioned later about the details of the job, he would have struggled to remember them as most of the time his thoughts were occupied with what state he was going to find both men upon his return. The only thing more he could have done was take both of them by the hand like children and locked them in a room with a stack of prewritten questions for them to ask each other. It was still on the table as an option at the moment.

He braced himself, because while he hoped there might be progress, in all honesty no part of him was optimistic the situation would be good, so his shock was genuine and complete when he returned to the sound of Dean’s records being played at full volume and the sight of both men in the kitchen, laughing, actually laughing as they leaned over the stove. They didn’t hear Sam come in, didn’t see him in the doorway, so he watched a moment. There was meat grilling, onions too from the smell, and Cas appeared to be fussing with it as Dean stood very close behind him, hovering just shy of touching.

“See Cas?” And Sam could hear the bright smile in his brother’s voice though he couldn’t see it. “You ain’t half bad, I’m gonna let you do all the cooking from now on, put you work around here!”

“I fear I have a great deal more to learn in that case, this is now the only thing I know how to prepare.” And they were looking at each other now in a way that told Sam this was his cue to enter.

“Actually, I don’t think Dean would have a problem if that’s all he ate.” Dean didn’t so much jump at the sound of his brother’s voice as take a bouncing little slide out of Cas’ personal space. Cas didn’t seem aware there was anything to be embarrassed about. He actually beamed at Sam.

“Sam I can make burgers now, Dean showed me. I can make you one too if you’re hungry.” And he began to prepare a patty without waiting for an answer. Sam let him, he seemed so happy. “The secret is not to poke it with the spatula.” Dean just gave a sheepish smile and shrug of his shoulders. Sam could live without knowing what they’d talked about, he was just so glad that things seemed to be resolved. And it was that relief, and the sight of his brother and his friend enjoying themselves in such a simple act that dropped his defenses and made Sam say what he said next.

There was going to be a day, somewhere in the future, when Sam would be alone in his room and he would curse himself thoroughly for his complete stupidity. To be fair, there had been so many other things that contributed, none of them having anything to do with him. But Sam kept coming back to that one simple little sentence as the catalyst for everything that followed.

“Hell Cas, you learn how to bake a pie Dean’ll never let you leave!”

 

Castiel’s mind was made up, he was going to learn to make pie. Sam thought that was completely hilarious, and agreed to conspire with Cas in his first foray into baking.  He’d warned the ex-angel that he was jumping into a bit of a deep end, pie not being the easiest pastry to master, especially for someone that had only just learned how to use a washing machine. So Cas approached it like the boys (or rather Sam) did a hunt and spent days researching techniques before he’d come to Sam with a list of ingredients. Cas was able to keep the preparation part a secret, but the minute he took that piping hot confection out of the oven the smell of nutmeg and cardamom made its way through every room and every hallway. Sam sat perched in the kitchen like a kid waiting for Christmas to start, this was going to be amazing and nothing on earth could make him miss it. Right on cue, Dean stumbled into the kitchen as if in a dream.

“What is that?” And he pointed at the thing as if the Loch Ness monster were sitting on their counter. Cas no longer had an angel’s powers, but he still retained an angel’s meticulous nature and the apple blackberry pie was a thing of magazine cover perfection. Sam did his best to hold it in. The trembling hope, the wonder in Dean’s face, it was killing him not to crack up.

“Cas made a pie, dude. Looks good.” Dean approached the thing cautiously, as if any sudden movement might frighten his beloved pastry away.

“You’ll have to wait though, it’s still too hot to consume but should be ready after dinner.” Cas looked immensely pleased with himself. Dean on the other hand, hearing that he could look but not touch was overcome by an emotion that looked exactly to Sam like _abject sexual frustration_.

Now to be clear, at this point in time, it was all still a joke to Sam. A sort of prank he didn’t have to lift a finger to play.  What would you do, big brother, if the man you do not have a thing for baked an actual pie? Sam had witnessed Dean ride violent, emotional rollercoasters about this dessert food and it felt like dying inside to see what kind of inner circus might unfold if Cas pulled this off. The only thing better might be to watch Dean squirm if Cas suddenly developed a penchant for fixing up American muscle in the garage.

So that evening, when Dean finally, _finally_ , got to take that first bite, Sam was on the edge of his seat. The look on Dean’s face was horror and awe.

“What the _fuck_ Cas?!” Oh man, what if it was terrible? That would be even better in a way, to watch the prospect of eternally replenished pie die in his brother’s eyes, just a little sweet revenge for all the times Dean had been an insufferable bitch these past few months. Sam took his own bite.

“Holy shit Cas” His eyes must have gone as wide as Dean’s. “This is amazing!”

“Cas, this is the best fucking thing I have ever put in my mouth.” Dean was using his low, serious business voice that he usually reserved for threats. And Sam knew by the tone he was trying to pull off funny serious, but the amusement didn’t reach all the way to his eyes, where something deeper bleed into the creases there and announced its intention to stay.

And Sam had a very distinct sensation at that moment, when he reevaluated his brother’s expression. It was like standing on the top of a very steep hill and realizing too late you are about to tumble down.

 

Now that he’s seen it, Sam couldn’t unsee it. And as the time wore on he began to see that look on his brother’s face almost daily. Horror and awe. And it wasn’t the wriggling discomfort of inopportune lust that he’d been expecting, there was a more…what could you even call it? Shit it was just _more_. Fuller, deeper, harder, with a pull at the corners of his eyes that Sam recognized as his brother’s tell for fear.

It had always been painfully obvious that there was something more than friendship between his brother and the angel. More painful was the fact that neither of them had seemed to have any sort of awareness of it. Years, they’d had _years_ together without figuring it out, and though Sam mostly ignored it, he had once whittled it down to three reasons why. One, Castiel was an angel, and even though both brothers had supernatural notches on their belts, there was always that hunter mindset that ‘other’ was off limits. Two, Dean was not gay, and though some people might assume his promiscuity was hedging closer to overcompensation, Sam knew otherwise. Three, Dean Winchester and Castiel, Angel of the Lord, had never spent any extended period of time in each other’s company. They would go months without seeing each other, and when they did it could be for a few short minutes, an hour, an afternoon. And this was on top of the fact that almost all of those times involved them either trying to kill something or trying not to die themselves.

But now things were different. Cas wasn’t an angel anymore, for one. When Cas _had_ been an angel, it was made pretty clear to the guys that gender wasn’t really the same thing for their species and Sam was beginning to think this probably broke down a few barriers for his brother. And finally, Cas was _living_ with them now.  On some level, these things were becoming apparent to Dean.

The reality really hit home when the acoustics of the bunker carried Castiel’s deep rumble from some unknown corner, the words more a sensation than a sound and though he couldn’t make them out he did hear his brother quite clearly. _I’d like that_. And it took an afternoon to sort out what it was about his brother’s voice had made him feel suddenly heartsick. When was the last time Dean had ever sounded that content? Happy? A lifetime ago, more than that, maybe only in a misremembered memory. Sam suddenly wanted this so fiercely for them it nearly felt like it was his own. He watched them stumble around each other for two weeks though, before he realized these two were morons and nothing was going to happen ‘naturally’. So it was up to him to pull it off.  He was going to do this for them because they were family and deserved to be happy and Sam wanted to give that to them. So he came up with a plan.

_Phase One_ : _Prime the target_

This part was fairly easy. Cas was eager to find acceptance in his new home, so it was simple enough to nudge him in the right direction. The baking thing he didn’t even need to suggest, Cas just took it upon himself to keep them knee deep in pie from then on. But it was Sam’s brilliant idea to propose they start working out in the middle of the war room as a counter measure.

“You’re not an angel anymore Cas, you gotta work on staying in shape and Dean is a terrible example.” He let Cas borrow some shorts, but advised him that his shirts were just too big, better to go without one. So every day at 7am Sam took Cas through a very thorough workout right in the center of the bunker and before he could even blink Dean was a morning person.

Sam also took it upon himself one afternoon to buy Cas some clothes at the thrift store. And the jeans he picked may have been a _little_ too big, the tshirts a _little_ too small. He’d seen the way Dean got distracted whenever Cas popped his boney little hipbones out.

Dean was now distinctly twitchy any time he was in the same room as the ex-angel. Time for…

 “Cas, I hate to ask, but do you think you could do me a huge favor?  I’m in a bit of a bind.” Nobody could resist his helpless puppy eyes, not even Castiel.

“I’d be happy to assist you Sam, what is it you need?”

“I promised a hunter buddy I’d help him with some research for a job, and it’s turning out to be a nightmare and there’s a bit of a hard deadline if you know what I mean. Anyway, I also promised Dean I would wash the car today and he’s gonna kill me if it doesn’t happen. You think you could take care of his baby for me this one time?  I’ll owe you so big”

“Certainly, though I’ve never washed a car before.” Sam had him by the arm and was steering him to the garage in no time.

“You’ll be fine, nothing to it! I left the buckets and soap and stuff there, and I’ll check up in a few.” He gave the slightly bewildered man half an hour before sneaking back to look. Oh my god it was perfect, Cas bent over the hood, soaking wet, scrubbing the windshield in a way that, and Sam imagined that this was a girl to confirm, bordered on obscene.

“That guy is turning out to be an awesome roommate.” Sam offered casually when he found Dean in the living room. “He’s really pitching in, washing the car all by himself right now.”

“Oh really?” Was all Dean could manage before he failed miserably at playing it cool on his way to the garage.

_Phase Two:_   _Direct physical contact_

“I was thinking of showing Cas how to shoot this afternoon, wanna join us?” Dean was giving him the eye and he knew it wouldn’t take more than a little push.

“You?  Why?” Sam deployed a brilliant eye roll.

“He’s gonna want to join us out there at some point, and it’s not like we have a lack of things we need to shoot at.” He didn’t wait for an answer, and sure enough, not fifteen minutes after they’d started in the range, Dean strolled in. Sam was being _such_ a good instructor, standing behind Cas, holding his arms, adjusting his stance with his knee. And he nearly bit a hole in his cheek to hold himself together and not look at the possessive rage Dean was doing his best to hide.

Right on time, the alarm on his phone went off, which may have been programed to sound like ringing.

“Oh shoot, I gotta get this.  Dean you wanna take over, show him what to do?” His brother practically body checked him out of the way.

There _was_ a phase three, Sam had already picked out the storage closet with the “faulty lock”. He had figured it was going to take a while, once his plan was under way, to get these two kids together.  So when he returned to the gun range a bit later, he was honestly not prepared for what he saw.

Dean, leaning shirtless into the booth, as he held Cas, also shirtless, propped up on the table as the ex-angel wrapped himself around Dean’s torso. And they were _going to town_ on each other. Sam was so utterly shocked at the sight his voice left him completely and all he could do was stare in mute horror. When Dean began to tear at the fastenings on Cas’ jeans Sam heard a voice that sounded a lot like his own screaming.

“OH MY GOD!”

And Dean whipped his head to growl, _fucking growl_ at him as he clutched Cas closer as if Sam was here to steal his prize. Sam made the mistake of looking at Cas in that moment, and the naked hunger on his face was burned into his brain. God he would need to get so drunk tonight.

“ _Go. Away_.” Dean turned his vicious glare back to Cas and Sam ran without another thought.

 

Nowhere was safe. Sam lived in a state of high alert at all times now that bunker had become a sex minefield. One would think, after the interruption in the gun range, that the guys would move the expression of their new-found passion behind closed doors, but God help Sam Winchester, they did not. He found them dragging each other down hallways, hands already half finished with the task of undressing the other. He found them tangled in the back of the Impala when he had to go out for groceries. Once found Cas, hands and arms coated in flour, pinned face first against the refrigerator door by a very eager Dean when he was trying to get a beer. And for reasons he could not fathom, the two of them seemed particularly enamored of slamming each other into walls, night and day, just grabbing each other by the shirt and whipping the other into the nearest hard surface.

_THUD! You think I can’t? CRACK! Gonna make you beg for it. BANG! Harder! Fuck! CRASH!_

The last straw came the day he went into one of the many storage rooms near the back of the bunker. There were boxes, there were books, there was his brother standing naked with his wrists handcuffed to a metal shelf above his head. Despite the blindfold of black fabric, Dean seemed to sense that it was not his lover retuning to continue their game.

“Sam.” He acknowledged, with as much dignity and composure as he could muster.

“Dean.” Sam pinched the bridge of his nose and clenched his eyes shut, trying to erase the image.

“Was there something I could help you with?”

“Uh, no dude, but we’re going to have a talk later about house rules.” 

 

Sam was beginning to regret ever getting involved, till the day he saw Cas carrying a box of things into Dean’s room.  The door was ajar and Sam couldn’t help but listen in a little.

“Hey, look, I made you space in the drawers!” Dean’s voice a happy murmur.

“Thank you, Dean.” And then after a pause that almost sent Sam away, “Are you sure this is alright?”

“Yeah Cas, I’m sure.” His brother laughed softly. “This is one of the only _right_ things I’ve got and I’m just sorry it took us so long.”

“Do you think Sam knows that we know what he did?”

“No, and don’t say anything either.  That guy’s head is big enough as it is.”

And Sam left at the sound of their kissing, and smiled as he walked down the hall.


End file.
